


Cooking Practice

by talkingtothesky



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Cooking, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene decides to cook for Sam, but he's finding it quite stressful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cooking Practice

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The way to a man's heart (is through his stomach)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062904) by [rebelxxwaltz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelxxwaltz/pseuds/rebelxxwaltz). 



> Written for lifein1973's [2013 Advent Calendar](http://lifein1973.livejournal.com/tag/advent%20calendar%202013).

Getting out of the car, Sam very nearly slipped on the icy pavement in front of Gene's house. He clung to the gate as he practically skated inside it, gloveless hands somehow both numb and stinging. One lot of snow had half-melted to slush and then frozen over, and just as Sam got in the car to come here, more had begun to gently fall, giving the city an eerie, sleepy kind of atmosphere. Having made it safely to Gene's doorstep, Sam rang the bell and waited, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of the borrowed coat he'd kept from the meat freezer escapade.

The door was wrenched open. Gene had his sleeves rolled up, there was a large spatter of flour on his stomach, and from inside the house a delicious aroma of meat roasting wafted out and assaulted Sam's nostrils. "Oh, it's you."

Sam blinked - a snowflake had just landed on his cheek, momentarily obscuring his vision. "Hi. Can I come in? The heating's gone again at the flat. I did try to phone ahead, but..." If he was cooking, that explained why Gene hadn't been picking up, then.

Gene grunted and stepped aside, holding the door open for him.

"Thanks." Sam went in and stamped his sodden boots on the rug just inside the door. He took his hat off and scrubbed one hand self-consciously through his hair. 

Gene shut the door, cutting off the supply of cold air flooding the hallway. He looked Sam up and down for a moment, then turned on his heel and strode along the hall to the kitchen. 

Sam frowned at his back. He didn't know why he'd been expecting a slightly warmer welcome. Still, he put that aside for now and took off his coat, hanging it and his hat carefully over the banister, where Gene's coat and leather gloves were already balanced precariously. Sam left his jacket on for the timebeing, still feeling the chill. Unzipping his boots, he lined them up under the radiator to dry. Then he followed Gene in his socks, feeling oddly nervous and out of place despite having been in Gene's house several times before. Most of their nights together so far had been at Sam's flat, but a couple of truly memorable occasions they'd made use of the double bed in Gene's spare room. 

As he entered the kitchen there was the tinkling sound of a teaspoon hitting a worktop, and Sam looked up to see Gene holding out a steaming, swirling mug. "Coffee. Get your frozen mitts around that."

Sam smiled widely and took it. "Cheers, Guv." The kitchen table was cluttered, almost every inch of it covered with slabs of butter, containers of raisins, mixing bowls, partially chopped vegetables, a set of scales and an impressive number of opened wine bottles. Sam found a tiny space to set down his coffee for a moment and parked his bum in a nearby chair.

"What's going on here, then?" 

Gene didn't look up from what he was doing. "Practicing."

"For...?"

"Christmas."

Sam picked up his coffee mug again, cradling it between his hands as he rested his elbows on his knees. "Yeah, but...why?"

He sniffed. "I've got a bigger kitchen than you." Then, quite obviously overriding any more questions, he suddenly strode towards Sam with a spoon outstretched. "How's this?"

It was mashed potato. Sam's hands were still around the mug and the spoon was approaching his face with such speed that he only had time to open his mouth and... let Gene feed it to him. The spoon clacked against his teeth as he tasted it and swallowed. He blinked up at Gene in shock. Gene slid the now empty spoon out again. Sam found his voice from somewhere. "Erm. Less butter?"

Gene nodded decisively. "Okay." He turned and went back to the stove, lifted the pan off the heat and began scraping the contents into the bin.

"Hey, hang on...!" Sam put his coffee down again - he still hadn't taken a sip - and went to stop Gene. "There's nothing wrong with it, you don't need to..." He grabbed Gene's arm, but it was too late.

"It were only for practice. I'll make it again, better. Now you're here you might as well give me some tips and taste-test since you're the expert."

Sam was faintly alarmed. "Gene, what's got into you? Why the sudden interest in cooking? You normally avoid it at all costs." He stroked the fine hairs on Gene's forearm with his thumb, trying to get him to calm down.

"I cook for myself alright. I wasn't completely reliant on me ex-wife for food."

"I never said you were. I didn't mean it like that."

Gene shook off Sam's hand and went back to the oven. "Go and drink your coffee, it'll be getting cold." 

Sam frowned and watched Gene shoving his hands into oven gloves. He opened the door, crouched down and pulled out the meat; Sam had to get out of the way quickly as Gene went to set it down on the counter behind where Sam was standing. He ended up near the table again, so he took a sip of the coffee, which had cooled just enough not to be scalding, and was therefore perfect. He shut his eyes for a moment, savouring the warm feeling that swept him from head to toe, banishing any lingering shivers. When he opened them again he saw Gene poking the turkey fork into the relatively small bird. It was starting to brown nicely and smelled wonderful, but Gene looked disgruntled and harried. Sam wisely kept his mouth shut until the turkey was back in the oven and the large fork well away from Gene's hand. "So...you've bought all this now, and you're gonna buy it all again come Christmas?"

Gene threw him a sideways glance. "Yeah."

"Is this...is this why you've left the pub early every night this week?"

Gene swiped the back of his hand over his sweating forehead. "Maybe."

"And...do you want me to spend Christmas Day with you here?"

Gene grumbled, nodding stiffly. 

Sam grinned, and drank some more coffee, feeling warm for more than one reason. He stood and sipped in silence for a while, watching Gene trying to do far too many things at once, cursing softly to himself and looking more and more adorable the grumpier he got.

"You're making me nervous," Gene said at last, as he was swilling the new batch of freshly peeled potatoes under the tap. "I wasn't expecting anyone to come over, this was meant to be my day to get the timings right, and all."

Sam slurped the last of his coffee and slid across the smooth cool kitchen floor in his socks to join Gene at the sink. He placed his cup on the counter, then went up on tiptoes to tuck his chin over Gene's shoulder and wrap his arms around his belly. "At least let me help."

Gene made a displeased noise, but Sam squeezed him tighter. "You don't have to look after me or improve your skills to please me. We can do it together, today and Christmas."

Gene sighed, and his head dipped, spine relaxing into Sam's embrace. "But I _want_ to do this for you. Clara left 'cause I didn't do enough for her, and you're so bloody skinny, you wouldn't be so cold all the time if you had a bit of meat on yer!"

Sam bit his lip, utterly dumbfounded. "I'm not _that_ skinny."

It took a moment, but Gene gave a hoarse laugh.

Sam chuckled too, feeling the reverberations through Gene's back echo into his chest. He nosed Gene's hair, dropped a kiss into it just behind his ear. "She must have been mad to leave you," he murmured, almost to himself.

"And you're mad on a daily basis. I must have a type." He patted Sam's hands. "Now let me go, or the pudding'll be ruined."


End file.
